Blade Of Oppressed Souls Novels & Stories

Blade sprang into action to catch it, but the boar was wild and rabid and was not surrendering without a fight. Even before Blade got even a slight scratch from the wild boar, it just dropped dead on his feet. I had to tell the spirits not to interfere with Blade unless I asked them to. They agreed, but a few days later, while Blade was sparring with one of his warriors, his body was enveloped in a black mist, and I had to scream and ask them to stop. I was terrified that if Mike attacked Blade, he would just drop dead. So, at this point, Blade and I decided that he was not to go into any friendly combat with anyone until I could make the spirits stop overprotecting him.

Amanda started shaking in fear, her eyes turned glossy as she pleaded him with her eyes. "You want to help me with my stress... Amanda?..." He said Maniacally lightly pressing the knife against her smooth skin making her tilt her head. "Let's release the stress then... Let me carve your skin with my knife, I want to admire it when blood will run down on your arms when I cut deep on it. Red suits your skin. I want to watch your soul leaving your body when you have no blood to lose Anymore..." He whispered darkly. Amanda started shaking and crying looking at his psycho behavior.

Wisps of wind blade power swept towards the ghost like dense icicles. This was Zephyr Khan who had used the soul storm's most powerful attack, the Soul wind Blade! Although he had only cultivated to the first realm, it was more than enough to deal with this ghostly body. In an instant! The ghost was torn into countless pieces by the wind blades. After a while! It had just recovered, but it was much weaker than before, and its figure became more illusory and blurred. It could be seen at a glance that it had been seriously injured.

Josiah roared. Following that, the lid of the Demon's Box opened, and countless blades shot out from it. The rain of blades was formed from the condensed resentment and ghostly aura of unjust spirits. It not only harmed the physical body but also targeted the soul. While physical injuries might be tolerable, harm to the soul would shroud the person in a ghostly aura and inflict them with great agony. Generally, fighters were not afraid of ghosts and spirits. Yet, when numerous spirits united, their combined force was not to be underestimated and even fighters would suffer immensely if entangled by them.

Belief. I had given all three. The scars lived on my skin. My mind held the names of those who died in divine silence. My faith had fractured under what I had seen—but I stayed. And tonight, I would give more. I stepped onto the dais and lifted the ceremonial dagger—the Black Blade. Not forged metal, but obsidian fused with the bones of priestesses who had died mid-prophecy, minds split by divine madness. It could cut through flesh… and fate. I drew it across my palm again, deeper than before. My blood struck the altar and hissed.

I shouted. I stepped out from behind Rowan. The obsidian blade in my hand felt different now. It wasn't just a heavy piece of stone. It was light, almost weightless, and it thrummed with the soft, white light of the girl I had seen in the warehouse. It was the **Blade of the Unsaid**. Every word I had swallowed, every dream I had put aside for the sake of survival, every "I love you" that had been lost in the roar of battle—it was all there, feeding the light. Vane pivoted, his liquid form spinning like a drill. He ignored Rowan and came for me. He was fast—too fast for a human to track. He was a blur of silver and shadow.

– his breath hitched and I knew I got him. "Andreas… made a weapon and soon… he will… cut out everyone who… resist him" – hmm, that one was news, even for me. Not that I didn’t expect something big from him, but still… that was huge. "Tell me about the dragon scale" – I ordered.

It pulsed with power, ancient and terrible, humming with the weight of countless sacrifices. The old woman gestured toward the blade, her voice barely a whisper. "The Dagger of Souls. It is the only weapon capable of severing the darkness from your spirit. It was forged in the first age of magic, when the boundaries between worlds were thin. But it requires a sacrifice, a willing sacrifice of your memories, your power, your very essence. You must choose what to give. What are you willing to lose?" Elena stepped forward, her heart pounding against her ribs. The blade called to her, humming with ancient power. She could feel the darkness inside her recoiling, terrified of what was to come. It

The memories of the borderlands, the hunts, the bloodshed—they all blurred into the background. Only the blade remained. Steel. Control. Focus. He spun the sword once and brought it down in a clean strike that would have split a skull from crown to jaw. The sound echoed softly across the courtyard. Then— “You train early.” The voice came from behind him. Deep. Smooth. Ancient. Adrian froze instantly. His instincts reacted before his thoughts did. He turned and dropped to one knee. “My king.” King Vaelreth stood near the entrance of the courtyard, his dark cloak stirring slightly in the cold morning wind.

Not with Nova and Isla behind me, not with Blade at my side. Blade’s strikes were brutal, calculated, forcing it to split its focus. Every time it committed to one attack, we met it with another. I could see the frustration building—an unfamiliar expression for something that seemed unstoppable. And then, the first real opening appeared. Its arm overshot, leaving its side exposed. I drove my knife deep, twisting, and felt resistance give way. A hiss, a howl of fury—but it staggered. Nova gasped, clutching Isla tighter.